Picking up the Pieces
by Germanys-pasta
Summary: Sometimes Natasha can't keep it together, only Alfred is there to pick her up again. America x Belarus Oneshot!


The eerie silence in the garage made Alfred slightly curious as he pulled the key from his motorcycle. The lights faded and shadows dropped over the garage, cloaking the place in darkness. Alfred tucked his keys in his pocket and dropped his helmet on the seat of the large bike with an American flag painted on the side.

He turned and walked to the door and opened it easily, striding into the house and plopping his keys down on the counter. The blonde shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the last peg on the rack mounted on the wall. He moved through the house, peeking into rooms and moving to the next, searching for the platinum blonde woman.

Alfred navigated down to the blank door that practically blended into the wall of the desolate living room, he swung open the door and squinted into the darkness. The inky black of the basement was lacking the usual outline of Natasha's form sitting in the corner, likely sulking about something. Last time she went down there was to glower after Alfred had scolded her for trying to poison England's drink; she finally came out when he went down there and dragged her out. Honestly, Alfred wasn't sure why she would be sulking this time, perhaps because he didn't give her a good morning kiss? Or maybe something else, he had been hearing something about Russia being in the hospital. But that couldn't be the motive for her to be licking her wounds down there, when she heard the news she began doing many more household chores. Natasha actually began baking meals, cleaning the house, and taking care of his dog.

He clomped down the stairs and felt around, only to be greeted with dust and more cold, basement air. The blonde returned to the door and spun on his heel to search elsewhere. The next place he looked was the kitchen, it was likely she had stopped in there to get a glass of water or begin dinner as she had formed a habit of doing lately. Unfortunately, she wasn't there either.

With his eyebrows knitted in frustration he moved back up the stairs and searched the spare room, then checked the bathroom, finally approaching the bedroom door. He noticed it was closed, which was unusual, as normally he left it ajar in the morning and Natasha never bothered to close it while she was cleaning or even going in or out of the room.

Alfred pushed open the door and peered inside. As soon as he saw the scene that had been hiding behind the oak door he understood what was going on.

On the floor near the bathroom was Natasha, sitting on the floor with her legs on either side of her body. The blue satin of her dress was torn at the sleeves and many places in the back, almost as if she had been attacked. Natasha's once long platinum hair had been sheared harshly, leaving it only to brush above her shoulders in uneven clumps riddles with blood. Her bow was missing and only half a foot away was a glistening knife. That would have been a normal thing, save the knife was dripping a thick crimson liquid.

With a sigh the blonde American moved across the room and crouched down in front of her, "Natasha…" He said softly and placed his hands on her shoulders, glancing at her wounds with disappointed eyes.

Natasha was pale as a sheet, her eyes were puffy and red rimmed, both seemed lifeless and dull. She looked at her lover without acknowledgement, on her arms cuts were drawn like the veins on a leaf. More cuts that were probably dealt with her knife were found along her chest, neck, and legs. Blood was everywhere on the woman and one eye was unable to open due to the blood forcing it shut.

After a moment Alfred frowned but pulled the small woman close to him, rubbing her back soothingly. "Natasha…" He sighed into her hair, shaking his head disapprovingly. "I told you not to do things like this… "The blonde murmured to her, waiting for her to move.

A few minutes passed with the woman remaining still, limp and unmoving. Then finally her hands moved over and behind him, clutching his shirt tightly. She pushed her head into his chest and bunched the fabric behind his back. Natasha bit her lip for a moment, holding back all the tears that had pent up throughout the day. Alfred kissed her head and tossed the knife away as he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He didn't miss a beat when he saw the mirror completely shattered, and instead moved to the guest bathroom, which was untouched by the woman's melt down.

Alfred was used to this, these break downs happened on occasion. And now with her beloved sibling in the hospital he expected them to be more frequent. So far it had been the fifth time this week that Alfred had gotten home and had her hurt herself in some way. But as soon as he would patch her up, she would be up again, doing chores as though trying to apologize without losing her pride.

But that was just the way Natasha was. Her pride kept her alive, although she wasn't arrogant or cocky; Alfred had picked up on this trait a while back. Along with her stony façade, she had created her own image; one that would strike fear into the hearts of fellow nations. But, these two parts of her were unsteady and easily tipped her scale of sanity. Whenever that happened, likely due to a major event, she tended to go a little bit…well, she raged.

Sure, he'd never seen it with his own eyes, but he knew what she would do. She would pull out her knife and attack the first thing she blamed for everything. In most cases, it was herself.

Recently Alfred had discovered that. Natasha blamed herself for almost everything that went wrong. When her brother was diagnosed with cancer, she immediately looked in the mirror with hate filled eyes. The time when Alfred got into an accident, she stayed by his side at the hospital, holding his hand with a straight face, although holding back tears and wanting to take one of the needles from the nurses and drive it into her heart.

So the first day when he returned home, expecting to have a nice night of snuggling and watching a movie she didn't even care for, he was so shocked to find her on the floor with blood dripping down her body. At first he scolded her, and tried to take away her knives, but the next day she just broke the mirror and used the shards. That was a bit more difficult to fix thanks to the small bits that were hidden inside her cuts which Alfred had to carefully extract. Finally he gave up trying to stop her, and rather found that the best remedy was only to come back and patch up her wounds when she was bleeding.

Ever since he had stopped trying to prevent the break downs, when they did happen, she was a bit milder on herself than usual. Such as that day was much better than the previous; in which she had burned herself by heating her knife and proceeding to cut herself as usual. The white welts were still visible under the bandages she had ripped off and torn the skin where they had sat. That day she had only broke the mirror and cut herself, but only with her knife. From the markings on her knuckles it seemed she had punched the mirror, and no bits of glass were in her injuries, so Alfred decided her fist was the only area that needed to be checked for glass.

Natasha waited through the process of the blonde bandaging her with a vacant look, her blonde hair was still frizzy and the ends were sticking up. That was another matter, he reminded himself; he would need to cut her hair for her. It seemed as though from the blood that was drying on the tips that she had cut her once long and luscious platinum hair with the knife she used to damage herself.

Alfred finished the session with a small kiss to her forehead and then pulled her off the counter. He could tell she was going to begin to cry at anytime, but was holding it in. A smile graced his features and he pulled her back to change her into some comfortable pajamas. She obliged and dressed herself delicately then allowed her lover to carry her to the couch.

Following the habits that had formed over the week, the American turned out the lights, leaving them in darkness, only obstructed by the moonlight pouring in through the window. Then he curled up with the injured woman on the couch, pulling a blanket over them and holding her tenderly. Without any other warning she broke down and buried her face into his shirt, tears gushed down her cheeks as she sobbed. The woman, so strong and proud, folded into Alfred's embrace and cried louder, poured out her emotions without words.

The man held her through it, rubbing circles in her back and waited for her to calm herself, knowing she needed a minute to release it all. Her frame shuddered and shook with her sobs, reminding Alfred just how fragile she truly was. This small woman in his arms, he shifted slightly to look down at her, feeling a tender smile form as her tears began to subside leaving her only to hiccup and dig at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Shh….Shh…" He said softly, his voice so gentle and kind, it made a warm feeling hum in Natasha's stomach. The feeling came when she was around him after a scene as she just had; like the sweet feeling of healing.

It wasn't long before woman was murmuring small things in Russian in her sleep, making a bigger smile break out on Alfred's face. Sure, it wasn't something that he would have liked to be a normal thing; but if this was how it had to be, then he would go with it. Patching her up and putting her back on her feet, that was the routine. He'd follow it diligently until Natasha could do it herself, until she stopped hurting herself. Until he could return home and find her polishing a knife instead of wielding it. Sitting in the living room perhaps and looking through different kinds of cameras to practice her photography on her lap top.

But, at that moment in time, that wasn't what she needed of him. She didn't need him to come home and help with dinner and hug on her. Right then, she needed him to come home and clean up her wounds, to toss away the knife and stop the bleeding. And that was the way Alfred would be, coming home to sweep up the glass and prop her back up on her feet. And he wouldn't change that, until she was ready to.

* * *

Lame oneshot is lame. I know. :|

Anyway, I wrote this almost entirely late at night so its really short and kinda stupid. If theres flaws (the whole thing is a flaw) then blame it on my 2 in the morning writing skills, it almost like I'm drunk.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia


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